


Through Fire

by MirabilisMage



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: BioWare Contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirabilisMage/pseuds/MirabilisMage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirkwall mage Mira must decide whether to fight or flee as the final battle begins. Written for the BioWare Short Story Contest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Fire

 

Her life was engulfed in flames once more. She had always been followed by fire, from hearth to war to cooking to disaster. It was fire that first outed her as a mage, as child too young to even use matches.

Mira had learned to control her internal burning, not just the magic blasts, but her heart, her dreams as well. Kirkwall defined life within grey stone and slave statues, and so her life had become one of greyness and slavery. As the Templars grew in – power isn’t the word, exactly, ferocity, perhaps – it seemed best to keep quiet and avoid notice. Mira saw no reason to wait, exactly, yet she saw no reason not to. And so she did as she was told, speaking little, hoping for nothing.

Disaster was a harbinger of fire – those poor refugees fleeing a blighted land, and then a battle with the Qunari. And now Kirkwall was alight once more. As always, information was quick to move but slow to contain the truth. The Chantry wasn’t really destroyed, was it? Yet Mira, like the others, had felt the very ground shake, could see the burning embers rain upon the city.

Thought a mage, Mira wasn’t anyone particularly important – not a senior enchanter, not an apprentice, not Tranquil, not a master at anything, just a woman who could generate fireballs. No one rushed to her for information or counsel. She did as always did when fire threatened: gathered what was most important to her (a few letters, a small toy horse) and then melted into the background.

Mira stood at a window in the mage’s quarters, looking across the Gallows and then beyond into the city. What new threat raged? Would – would her sister be okay? Mira had not seen her family in years, indeed her parents had recoiled from her like those who have burned a hand on the stove. But her sister wrote her vibrant letters, of flowers and cooking dinner and shopping. The Mage Underground saw to it that Mira got them. Oh, the Templars allowed mages to correspond with the outside world, but they censored the letters so heavily it was pointless.

Petra was a few years younger than Mira. Mira wasn’t sure why her sister was so open-minded, but she was grateful for it. Petra lived in Lowtown, usually working at the Hanged Man. Mira couldn’t imagine what a bar/inn was like, nor did she want to try. Even so, she relished Petra’s descriptions of brawls and hook ups. The best letters, the ones she sometimes read to fellow mages, included stories of the Champion.

The Champion’s sister was a mage, and a popular one at the Circle. Popular in that she was heavily scrutinized by the Templars, and popular in that she was generally a kind, calming presence, beloved by all. Mira sometimes shared Petra’s letters with Bethany.

Bethany wasn’t here now, though, nor was Orsino. The Templars watched in silence as the mages debated about what to do. Some wanted to barricade themselves in their rooms, others wanted to flee. A few, like Mira, waited patiently.

She could see boats crossing the harbor. Figures began to emerge, casting long shadows. She placed her hands on the windowsill, hoping for a better look. It was Orsino and the other mages who’d left with him to confront Knight Commander Meredith. Though – though she could not see Bethany returning.

Mira followed the others downstairs to meet Orsino; clearly he had important news to share.

“I’m afraid it’s over,” he was saying as she arrived. “I had hoped to try again to reach a compromise or understanding with Meredith and Elthina. However, as you may know by now, the Chantry was destroyed. Even though the explosion was the work of one man, Meredith ordered the Rite of Annulment.”

Even Mira gasped at this news. It was thing to keep her own passions at bay, it was her choice. But to be forced? A servant to the Chantry forever?

“Tonight, we will have to fight. The Champion of Kirkwall is on our side and will be here soon. Gather what you can and prepare. . . .” Mira had fled before Orsino could finish speaking.

She leaned against a stone wall, quickly debating her options. She could stay and fight but she was not particularly powerful. She was, at best, an average mage. How could she survive against the Templars? But could she hide? Surely she’d be found. There was only one answer: Escape.

Mira looked to the burning sky. She set fire to her own heart, disturbing the ashes there. She would need love and anger to give her strength and fuel her escape. She would have to care to survive. To live, she would have _to live_.

Hugging her bag close, she assessed her options. The only way out was by water. Right now, she would be easily noticed; indeed, she’d probably run into Meredith’s forces. But the Champion’s arrival would probably cause enough confusion that she could make it out. She had never sailed a boat, but she’d read a book about it once.

The moon peeked out from behind the clouds but briefly. “Who destroyed the Chantry?” she wondered. Probably someone with the Underground. Probably an apostate. Mira was glad she had waited for this, whatever the outcome, was worth waiting for.

She heard shouts across the courtyard – mages and Templars gathering, standing off.

“Now we fight!” rang across the shadows, echoed against the stones. The Champion. Bethany. And several other people Mira didn’t know. But it was no matter; her opportunity had arrived.

Hugging the wall, she stayed low to the ground, stepping lightly. Years of silence, of stillness had taught her how to go unnoticed, and even know she wound across the battlefield undetected. Occasionally, a burst of light would illuminate her path; she feared being struck by an errant fireball. But she could dodge, and soon she was at the steps.

Mira jumped into the smallest boat she could find. She thrust an oar into the water, but realized she wasn’t strong enough to paddle. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Would it work? Her expertise, such as it was, was fire, but maybe water. . . . . She dropped her right hand into the harbor, her left gripping her bag. She generated a small blast of water, propelling the boat forward. In fits and starts, then, she made it across the harbor and into Kirkwall itself.

The city echoed the fight in the Gallows; bodies lay everywhere. Mira didn’t know where to go, what to do. She had escaped, but to what? She thought about the letters in her bag, how often Petra had described the streets. The Hanged Man. It might not be standing anymore, but it was the only tangible piece Mira had.

She still remained in the shadows, worried Templars might find her, or bandits or some other lowlifes. She deftly avoided rubble and said a little prayer for each body she found. And soon, before her, unbelievably, the unmistakable sign of The Hanged Man. She tried the door and it opened.

To her surprise, it was bustling, patrons happily drinking, chatting, and playing games. It looked as she imagined, the few times she’d allowed herself such luxury. She walked to the bar and asked softly, “Is Petra here tonight?” The barman jerked his head to the left, indicating a woman with a tray of pitchers and glasses.

Once again, Mira was unsure what to do. How to introduce herself to a long last sister as the city burned around them?

Petra set down her tray, smiling as she joked with the men at the table. She turned, to move back to the bar and then she caught sight of Mira. The two women stared at one another. Despite the years and distance, they were unmistakable – the same bright amber eyes, the same dark hair.

Mira bit her lip. “It’s burning, it’s all burning.”

Petra nodded. “I know. The Hanged Man will always be here, though. I. . . .I’ve always been here.”

Mira crossed the distance to her sister. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Petra smiled. “I’m sorry that now wasn’t sooner.”

The women embraced. This was what Mira had been waiting for. Not escape, not a destroyed Chantry, not freedom, but a sister, a friend, contact, love. Everything she had been denied and denied herself burst through her heart at once, as a lava flow.

Petra took Mira’s arm, leading her to a back room.

“Petra, I can’t stay. The Templars. . .something is happening at the Gallows. The Champion is there!”

Petra nodded. “I was afraid of that. One of the Champion’s friends had been acting strangely and I wondered. . . . Anyway. You can lay low here for now. In a few days, when things are calmer –and they will be calmer – we can. . . we can figure out what’s next. I have a bit saved up. We’ll find somewhere.”

Mira nodded. “Okay.” She looked down at her bag. “I didn’t take much when I left. I saved your letters.”

Petra smiled. “I have treasured the letters I received from you.” She looked up with a start. “I better get back to work, or they’ll wonder! I’ll check on you soon.”

Mira leaned against the wall. Her life had ended in fire when she entered the Circle. And now through fire it would begin again.

 


End file.
